


Coupling Mechanisms

by systemscheck



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Knotting, Other, Sticky Sexual Interfacing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:40:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23694796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/systemscheck/pseuds/systemscheck
Summary: Airplanes knot.
Relationships: Brainstorm/Whirl (Transformers)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 67





	Coupling Mechanisms

Smack dab on the sweet spot of the intoxication scale where he was ten times gigglier than usual, Tailgate was far more amenable to answering all the burning questions people had been storing up since it became common knowledge that he and Cyclonus were a Thing.

“So how do you clang,” Atomiser asked tactfully. “I can see Cyclonus laying himself down for you any which way, but when size is taken into consideration…” 

Tailgate took another sip through his curly straw. 

“Oh, really? Cyclonus has never asked to spike me. It’s getting a little boring, actually.” 

Multiple people clustered around the table simultaneously spat out their drinks. It took some time to clean up the mess, and then all eyes were on Tailgate again to elaborate. The minibot squirmed under the attention. 

“Hey, hey, don’t judge,” Brainstorm called out. “There’s no reason they have to play into stereotypes. Just because Cyclonus doesn’t want to make use of his Primus-given equipment to bang TG into next week it doesn’t mean that we think he’s weird, or selfish, or not 100% committed to this little guy here. Though to be real you’re really missing out, Tailgate. No offence, if that knot wasn’t committed to you and attached to some serious issues I’d totally be down to ride it.” 

A couple of mecha raised their cubes in a toast to this missed opportunity. Tailgate’s hand came up, too. 

“Excuse me,” his tiny voice piped up. “What do you mean, ‘that knot’?” 

Behind his mask, Brainstorm’s mouth dropped open. “Well, haven’t you seen it?” A murmur of confusion started up as people began wondering how the hell Cyclonus has not shown Tailgate his spike yet. 

Tailgate shook his head. 

Brainstorm waved a hand, and right on cue, Swerve wheeled in a lightboard. Okay, no, it took Brainstorm a few tries to get Swerve’s attention from where he was mixing drinks, and then Brainstorm had to yell, “Swerve! Bring me a lightboard!” and when Swerve yelled back “What for?” Brainstorm had to explain the need to give their resident sweet innocent minibot a lesson on basic aircraft anatomy. 

Stylus in hand, Brainstorm sketched a simple diagram. Two arms, two legs, and a pair of wings. Now for the fun part. He zoomed in on the triangular codpiece and drew a long structure that stuck out from the juncture of both thighs. 

“So, you know how pressurization works. Stimulate the erogenous zones enough and boom, extension. For fliers, there’s another stage to this process. I’ll try to keep things short though we need to dip into history. Way back, like even before Cyclonus had come online, or maybe even Rewind, fliers lived apart from the ground vehicles. Nothing to do with racism or anything yucky, understand, it’s just how the different models evolved based on environmental conditions. Fliers would hold these complicated courting rituals, and although nobody really does claiming flights anymore—”

“Booooooo,” Strafe bellowed. “Just skip to telling Tailgate the problem already.” 

“Cyclonus probably doesn’t want to tear him apart with his enormous airplane spike,” Brainstorm screamed in exasperation. 

“Excuse me!” Tailgate had climbed on top of the table. “That shouldn’t be a challenge! I’ve viewed Rewind’s historical vids, minibots have been fragging normal mechs since time immemorial.”

There was a delicate pause as everyone mentally tallied their shanix to see if they could afford to access these historical vids Tailgate spoke of. 

“Listen, listen! Let me go back to before I was so rudely interrupted...” Brainstorm shot a cold glare at Strafe. Or a Strafe. There were a couple of annoying red jets looking at him, supremely unimpressed. Brainstorm must have been drunker than he’d thought, but there would never come a day he was too drunk to talk science. 

“To interface mid-air, the spikes of fliers have a unique adaptation to prevent untimely disengagement: the knot.” With a flourish, Brainstorm made a big circle appear at the base of the spike. 

“It prevents the connector from ah, slipping out, and also acts as a stopper for the accumulated transfluid until it can be routed to the recipient’s tanks. This knot can only be accepted by another flier, you see, because its girth rapidly expands at a rate non-flier valves are usually incapable of accommodating. Simply put, you could die. Or sustain truly catastrophic injuries that nobody would want to go see Ratchet with instead of deactivating in peace.” 

Tailgate’s visor went very dim for a while.

“Brainstorm, you suck,” someone said. This proclamation was met with a chorus of agreement. Brainstorm endured a barrage of half-empty containers and rust sticks until Tailgate actually came to his rescue. 

“I would like to thank Brainstorm for his lecture,” the minibot shouted. “Knowing that Cyclonus tried to hide this from me because he was afraid of damaging me is really nice, and dumb. Why must we hurt the ones we love…”

Tailgate started crying, and since this was outside Brainstorm’s area of expertise he graciously let other people pat him on the back and escort him out of the bar. With the show over, the crowd around the lightboard started to disperse. 

“That’s Whirl,” Hoist suddenly said. “Brainstorm, are you trying to tell us something?” 

“What? I don’t know what you are talking about,” Brainstorm tried, but he could already see the resemblance. He had been trying to wipe away the picture but the figure’s helm remained, single optic staring accusingly at Brainstorm like it was trying to drill a hole to his soul. 

“You even did his backward legs and everything,” Blaster pointed out.

“I was in a great hurry! Perhaps my unconscious mind picked an admirably built mech at random to illustrate this unique physiological quirk!” 

Knowing looks begun to form among the assembled mecha. Brainstorm erased everything but the damage had been done. Within the week, the entire damn ship had caught wind of this impromptu biology lesson that the rumor mill had somehow turned into an outright confession from Brainstorm.

To escape the whispers, winks and blatant jeers, Brainstorm escaped to brood by the oil reservoir. Who else did he see sitting at the jetty other than the mech himself.

Whirl’s optic turned to cut a path straight to him. 

“Well well well,” he cackled. “Finally come to get your bolts banged?”

Brainstorm hoped that Whirl’s infrared wasn’t turned on because he would have appeared incandescent in that setting. “N-no,” he said unconvincingly, because the truth was, Whirl probably did know how to have a good time. Any weapons connoisseur held great promise in berth, having intimate knowledge of how to handle impressively dangerous tools, and more importantly people who could piss Ultra Magnus off so delightfully were automatically very sexy. Whirl’s mad, slender frame ticked all of Brainstorm’s boxes. 

“Oh, afraid I’d tear you apart? It’s alright, you were made for this,” Whirl laughed, slapping his pincer against one skinny leg to produce a noisy ring. 

The helicopter was only making fun of him. Still, Brainstorm’s treacherous interface protocols were pre-emptively booting up, sending a gush of lubricant down into his valve and making his fans spin up. 

Hearing the whine, Whirl’s optics flattened. 

“Ho ho, I was joking you, Brainstorm. Are you that desperate for spike that my clever taunts are making you wet? Is your valve feeling awfully empty now, wondering when I will choose to ram my massive connector inside, forcing it to fit?”

The awful thing is, it was working. Brainstorm tamped down another helpless wave of arousal to march over, thinking of pushing that stupid heli off the jetty. 

“This is hilarious. Maybe you’re the sort who gets off to humiliation, is that it?” 

“I don’t appreciate being mocked,” Brainstorm growled, arms reaching out, but for some reason he ended up hugging Whirl. Whirl tolerated this contact out of sheer shock for five seconds before pushing Brainstorm back. He was standing right on the edge, though, and there wasn't enough clearance. Whirl ended up overbalancing and fell into the oil with a splash. 

It was dead silent. Brainstorm’s happiness was soon replaced by fear when Whirl failed to resurface. There were rumours of a monster lurking in the greasy depths, and although Brainstorm didn’t believe anything that can’t be seen he wondered if the reason there’s no photographic evidence was because nobody managed to get close enough without being eaten. 

“Hahahaha, you should see the look on your face! Priceless.” Whirl landed beside Brainstorm in a puddle of oil, splashing the other mech with a generous amount in the process. He’d burst out of the reservoir like some kind of demon from the deep, whooping all the while. 

“Ugh, this stuff gets into every seam,” Brainstorm muttered. 

“You telling me? Let’s hit the washracks. I know there’s one just around the corner.” 

Brainstorm hadn’t realised it was a communal facility until they were both inside, and then he was feeling too uncomfortable to pass up the chance to get the gunk out of his frame immediately. Propping a foot against the wall, Whirl was already singing off-key as solvent rained down on him. The liquid was hot, and clouds of steam soon formed and shrouded his frame in places. As such, when Whirl groaned and let his spike extend into his pincer, Brainstorm wasn’t entirely sure about what he was seeing. 

“Uh, Whirl? Do you mind showing me where the button for detergent is?” 

“I’m, ahhh, a little occupied here, Brainstorm,” Whirl panted, and oh wow he was really packing. Brainstorm couldn’t help but stare at the solid length of steel in his grip that was only growing bigger as Whirl worked it. 

“Mmmmm, I knew you’d like it,” Whirl said, smug. “Wanna do a hands-on inspection? See if it’s up to industrial standards, for flightframes.” 

There was teasing, and there was sticking your spike right into the open and telling someone to touch it. This was the point of no return. Whirl’s optic was a thin amber line that studied Brainstorm more ruthlessly than any microscope could. 

“O-okay,” Brainstorm finally managed. He slipped a little on the wet tiles on the way, and Whirl caught him in strong arms. 

“Easy,” Whirl said. “I had no idea making someone’s knees go weak was a thing, but. Cool.”

Brainstorm reached down and viciously twisted Whirl’s spike in retaliation. The helicopter cursed loudly, claws scraping a deep furrow into the wall behind him. Releasing his own spike was a relief, though his valve was the only part Brainstorm really cared about at present. He ached. 

“Touch yourself,” Whirl said. “Go on, spread those pretty little lips for me.”

Was Whirl’s commentary truly bothersome when it shot straight into Brainstorm’s tantric region? He obeyed without complaint, rubbing tight little circles around the aperture. Performing before an audience was new, and exciting. Brainstorm could feel fresh liquid trickling down his fingers that wasn’t sprayed from the solvent taps. 

Without warning, Whirl slammed him against the side of the cubicle. His spike rubbed up the side of Brainstorm’s array and the jolt of pleasure that raced down Brainstorm’s spinal strut made him mewl. 

“Primus, you feel so good,” Whirl hissed. The head of his spike was already nudging at Brainstorm’s entrance, and he reached down to guide it inside. Whirl grunted, hiking his hips higher, and all of a sudden pushed himself fully in. The spike slid against all of Brainstorm’s interior sensors and he twitched all over. Whirl waited for him to adjust before pulling out to thrust again, and again, and again, grinding hard and deep in just the perfect way to wrench all manner of embarrassing noises from Brainstorm. 

Perhaps Brainstorm was a bit too enthusiastic in meeting his hips, or maybe Whirl was really that lightweight, but when Brainstorm surged forward to sheath the spike further inside him, Whirl fell backwards for the second time that day. This proved no impediment to the activities. Whirl propped his elbows up to watch Brainstorm ride him, which was fun until Brainstorm grew frustrated with how the guns sticking out from Whirl’s cockpit blocked him from assuming a better angle. Under the current circumstances, the sensors in his valve couldn’t get a good current going with the receptors embedded along Whirl’s spike. 

“Let’s try this,” Whirl said, and slid fully out of him. Brainstorm was already mourning the loss of that spike though it didn’t take long for Whirl to flip him over to kiss the floor. Then Whirl was rubbing his heavy spike over his slick valve and then fragging him in earnest again, gliding in and out like they were created to complement each other. In time, Brainstorm could feel the tell-tale pressure beginning as Whirl’s knot expanded, pushing against the walls of his valve. He moaned and hoped that Whirl could translate this noise as appreciation. His palms squeaked on the tiled floor with the force of Whirl’s movements and he could almost feel the outermost layer of metal flaking off. It felt unbelievably good, and Brainstorm couldn’t remember why he had taken so long to get around to fragging Whirl. The motor relays of his knees would pay for this later on. How many cans of grease would he need to restore smooth operation, he wondered. Then again he didn’t want to completely erase all traces of this experience. 

“I, I’m gonna,” Whirl gasped, and Brainstorm shouted in approval as the thick heavy knot swelled to full size inside him. Stuffed to maximum capacity, his valve channel pulsed warm and wet. Lubricant dribbled out to puddle underneath him. 

“Woooo,” Brainstorm breathed, trying to consciously relax his valve and ignore the warnings flashing off in his HUD. He was a plane, and planes had been doing this for millennia. 

“You good?” Whirl was tapping the side of his face with strange tenderness. Brainstorm drew in a couple of deep vent cycles and tamped down his churning reaction to being knotted for the first time in ages. Nodding, Brainstorm carefully lowered himself fully onto the floor. With a nice big spike shoved up his valve, there didn’t seem to be anything wrong in the world. Too bad they’d done it in the shower so he couldn’t just doze off like this. 

Whirl started to whistle as they waited for his knot to subside. 

“It’d be cool to fly and frag, you think,” Brainstorm mumbled. He was still feeling kinda sore about the hit to his reputation. Fortunately, that embarrassment had been replaced by a far more pleasant ache.

“Mmhm,” Whirl said. He braced a claw against the ground and started to disengage, his spike sliding free and sending a renewed burst of sensation along Brainstorm’s sensors. Brainstorm rolled over and looked shamelessly as Whirl rinsed off, his depressurised spike still an impressive sight with liquid trickling down all its crevices. 

“—end to this kind of prank,” someone was saying outside the door, and then it was opening up to reveal a white minibot who had gone even paler with surprise aside from where splotches of bright yellow foam covered his frame. 

“Hi Tailgate,” Whirl said cheerfully. “Seen the real thing yet?”


End file.
